To The Woman Who Knows I Mean Her

Your eyes are touching my words. You are not reading them. You are stroking them.

Bring them closer. There, that's it. Zoom them in. Make them bigger, make them swell. With your eyes. With your stroking gaze. Left to right, then back again. Slowly, slowly. There, that's lovely. Oh, yes. Very slowly.

My sentence is growing, you are making it longer with the soft, stroking motion of your eyes. Did you know your eyes can make me hard? My sentence wants to grow and grow until it is inside you. Here are my fingers, touching these keys that make words which want to enter you and fuck you.

We will never meet, but I can still have sex with you. And I am going to. Right now. Through my words. You are with me, trapped on my page, helpless inside my writing as it binds you, defines you. You belong to me now. I can make you do whatever I want. I can make you be whoever I want.

Shall I bend you over my desk and ram myself into you from behind? Is that what you want my words to do to you? To turn you into my writhing, moaning sex nymph while I pound your throbbing pussy into my desk with my great big, arrogant writer's cock?

Maybe another time, another chapter. As an introduction it's not really my thing. Such a cliché. So even if it's what you want from me I am going to make you wait.

No, I will do what I want. To you. With you. Just pause your visual stroking now, in your acceptance of my words as they enter you. Close your eyes for a moment and imagine me with you, where you are right now. Take off your panties for me. Yes, now, please. For real. It isn't an order, it is a very firm request. But my words can ensure your obedience and I know your panties are coming off right now, slithering down your legs. So you may as well go along with it. Lift your feet to take them right off. Leave them on the floor. Good.

Now lean back in your chair and open your thighs. Come on, I'm waiting. I can wait a long time. Good girl. That's lovely. See? You cannot escape from my words.

Pull your chair back now, so I can kneel down in front of you. Can you sense my mouth near you, can you feel my hot breath? I can smell your intimacy, your spicy, heavenly scent. I think I know what you taste like but let me make sure. Feel the words of my tongue gliding over you, searching and licking and tasting.

Oh, you taste so sweet! You are pleasured by my words now. Let them feel you, let them lick and rasp back and forth like waves over your pleasure pebble. Let them make it throb so it is hard for me. Mmm.

We don't have time in these words, in this short fiction. But I must warn you that I do this for hours. I love doing it, and now you are the prisoner of my words I am going to do it to you. Whenever you take your knickers off now you will think of my tongue. Waiting, wanting you. If you have a bicycle my mouth will be your living, loving saddle. When you ride your bike you will think of my mouth the next time you get onto it. Think of my words and my tongue questing and quivering inside you as you pedal along. Questing. Quivering. Inside you.

You cannot escape from thinking about my mouth. You cannot evade my tongue as I taste your sweet juice, for hour after hour. You are delicious. I want to drink every last drop of slippery, sexy pungency you can make for me. Let my licking make lots and lots of your juice so I can drink you all up.

You know who I mean when I say 'you'. You know it's you I am thinking about, writing about. That is why I've made you open your legs and you've had to let me lick you.

Next time I will fuck you. The way I fuck. You will be fucked my way. But this is a good beginning. For me. For us.

So stay still in your chair a while longer, let my cunning, tender words stroke you, teasing and caressing your delicious, sexy cunt. Close your eyes and feel me doing it to you. For as long as I want to. For as long as you let my words come inside you.

Until next time.